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Teen Ink Forums

Over here KIKIXKUPKAKE and NOT_TOO_BAD

calm and silent competitiveness, like me and you but less good and evil, more varied opinion and feelings. also make their look relevant to their faction, but they should all be fairly pretty, so it screws with the main charectors mind! also great idea for the end, ill tell you it later.

just a suggestion for the future: we should make a reference to the bike being symbolic of something.
also: just an update, so teen ink rejected my first submission because it was under 2,500 words. but i just finished editing together what we have so far and after a quick word count we have 2,094 words so we are almost at the goal. :D

I'm going to rewrite my part today. It should take your part (about 60 words?) and set it to around 200. Ill count to be sure as well. Any part you want me to stick in some context just text me, I've always wanted to be an editor. Dylan, please email me the word document you have to I can adjust certain parts :)

I sighed. It was better to just fill out the clipboard than get myself into further trouble. Trisha was writing diligently, probably ranting about her poor, poor nose. I looked at my clipboard in exasperation. She flipped a page. Was she already that far? I hadn't even started! This shouldn't take long, I merely opened a door into her. It was pure accident. I groaned. Moving on. Name. I already felt this clipboard would be boring. Reason for visit. Those involved. Accurate timeline of events. Description of incident. I ran my words off the preferred lines and through the margins. Each word I scrolled out with such extremity, longing for the time when it would be over. The clock ticked.

The secretary laughed behind the door, probably sipping water from a Dixie cup while chatting with another teacher who was waiting for their papers to finish copying. I laughed in my head. My hand hurt from the metal grip of the pen, and I took a small break to look around the office. The mascot painting remained in its spot, standing as a reminder that I was still in school. I studied this painting, having nothing else to really do. I was practically finished with my paper. Trisha kept her eyes on her work, punching out periods and capital letters angrily. The cougar in the painting seem tired. I cocked my head slightly from habit.

The cougar slowly opened its jaw, exposing its sharp teeth resembling a newborn kitten. It's muscles tightened and then loosened as it closed its mouth. I felt myself open my mouth in shock. Did that painting... Did that painting just yawn? I shook my head and blinked hard. Look away, look at your paper. I didn't want to look at the painting, the thoughts of it being alive scared me half to death. I was so shaky, I was afraid to look anywhere but my paper. Paintings didn't just move. Maybe I was just tired, or nervous. I needed to stay calm, so I began to doodle.

I let my emotions spill onto the paper, on the margins half awake. Next thing I knew, there was a little boy standing above my words looking down shocked. It was like he say the words move, like I had with the painting. I dismissed the thought and finished my clipboard. I was still a little uneasy, to I drew more. Across the top, where my name was written, I drew long, red curls blowing in the wind. The curls that belonged to the girl with the blue bike! I looked at them curiously, admiring my drawing. It was almost like they were really her hair, and the wind was really blowing, and her her was really swaying... Wait. I opened my eyes wider. They were!! No, no they couldn't be. They weren't. I blinked, and it was just a drawing again.

Idiot, I was going insane! But in moments I forgot about the drawing because Trisha set down her clipboard as loud as possible. In fact, she set it down so hard that it bounced right back up. I held back a snicker, making those odd little hmm hmm noises. "What!?," she growled angrily. Her nose had stopped bleeding, and there were streaks of died, rust colored blood down her chin and neck. I said nothing. I set mine down as quiet as possible. I wanted to say, see, it's not that hard to be put things down, but I didn't have the courage. Almost like she'd been waiting, the secretary pushed through the door and looked at both of us. "Ryan," she began, "Miss Lowell is waiting for you." I picked up my clipboard and stood up to follow her through the door. We turned through this hall, then that, through a door and into another office. But this time, there was a pretty lady with long, straight brown hair sitting in a chair. I sat down and the secretary left.

Miss Lowell held out her hand for the clipboard. I slid it over the long wooden table we were seated at. As she read it, I took the time to observe her office. The walls were painted a light green, resembling the color moss takes before it dries out. The chairs had small cushions sewn into them, but they had long since gotten worn stiff. The room smelt of cotton and hand sanitizer, but not so much that it stung my nose. There was a shelf of nicknacks, pictures of her and a man who I guessed was her dad, and a bowl of candy. I wanted some candy, but I didn't think I was going to get any. I was done inspecting her room, so I began to study the mysterious Miss Lowell. I didn't predict the principal would be a lady, but it made sense. She was young and thin, wearing a black coat that looked a bit like a tuxedo jacket, but you could tell it was made for ladies who worked. Underneath she had a low cut white shirt, and a lanyard that was read Miss Lowell. I looked up from the lanyard to see Miss Lowell looking and me a little embarrassed and a little angry. What did she-- idiot!

"I, I was looking at your lanyard," I stuttered with a red face. She probably hated boy teenagers. She asked me a few questions about why I was there, and I explained how it was pure accident. "I don't even know the girl," I told her. "Then why are you here?" She asked, writing everything I said on a sheet of paper titled Notes. I watched her, trying to explain, "Mr. Shwazin probably thought we were in a fight since she was yelling and stomped on my foot. Which, by the way, really hurts." I had honestly forgotten about it until then, but i felt the need to explain that to her. She nodded, and then gave me a pass with her name pre stamped. "I'll be calling you back into class later, once I hear Trisha's side of the story." I nodded, grateful for nothing happening. She held the door open for me, and I put my hands in my pockets, touching the notes I had forgotten about earlier. My eyes opened wider, and I smiled goodbye, walking with the notes in one pocket and the pass in the other. I didn't even see Trisha, I just kept walking. I walked silently in fear and gratefulness the entire way to second period.

Although doodling was my passion, there was an emotion that u cannot explain that would just come over me when I wrote. The words just flowed together, almost like I just wrote what I thought. And boy, did I have thoughts! Mr. Pricer seemed to label this as a talent and a curse, since sometimes I would write run-on sentences and swerve from the prompt. However, it also gave me a tone that people could relate to.
Anyways, as I walked into second period, Mr. Pricer was talking to the class and stopped mid-sentence as everyone turned to look at me. I felt my cheeks go red and slowly walked across the room to hand him the well known green slip of the principal's office. Hushed whispers echoed throughout the class, and I turned too look at everyone as he read the note.
It was all a blurry sea of faces, different colored shirts and hair blending into each other. But there was one different...
Red! Did I see red? I felt the hope and dread growing in my stomach. Was that red? I couldn't look for barely more than a second because Mr. Pricer was handing me a worksheet and pointing me towards my seat. It was at the very opposite side of the room than where I believed I saw red hair. I couldn't focus on that, I had to copy the person next to me's notes and take out my journal. Plus I didn't want to jinx it. Half the period went by, consisting of me writing three pages in my journal of notes and prompt writing. I took a moment to finally glance up. And of course, there she was.
At the very opposite side of the room sat the girl with the blue bike. Her red curls cresendoed (SP) down her back like a beautiful piece of music, her curls hung in round, perfect ringlets. Everything I could see was beautiful. I couldn't even.
Her shirt was plain black, just highlighting the brightness of her hair. On her arms, which were writing diligently, hung a series of colorful bracelets. I didn't want to stop looking at her. She was alike no other girl I had seen before. She made my stomach stir, I felt nervous and excited, the way you feel before a 300 feet roller coaster. I looked back down at my paper.

"ok class, now announcing todays theme of the week." Mr.Pricer said. he always announced a theme on mondays that we were all supposed to write something about and turn in on friday. it could be anything, a poem a story a book an essay. any length any style as long as it related to the prompt. I always loved the prompt of the week. Mr.Pricer took out a expo marker and took off the cap. he walked over to the whiteboard and started to write a letter. N. followed by a E and a W then a space. I could hear people murmering in the class giving guesses about what the prompt would be. B this time everyone chanted out the letter together. E shouted the voices of 32 9th graders. G it was like a gameshow. I like wheel of fortune. N and mr.Pricer was the girl in the dress who revealed the letters. N everyone could tell what the prompt was now. I then N, G,and S. NEW BEGINNINGS. shouted the class in unison. Mr.Pricer turned to face the class. "Well seeing as it is the first official day of the new semester, I thought that this prompt would be appropriate." The bell rang over the speakers installed in the classroom. "Great job today." Mr.Pricer shouted over the sound of zippers and footsteps. I was usually the last one out and today was no eception. I heard the door swing shut as the last student exited into the halls. I zipped my backpack and looked up, swinging my backpack onto my shoulder. I froze. The Girl was talking to Mr.Pricer at the front of the class. This was my chance. I walked over just as she finished talking. I tried to say something but i couldn't. Like when you are so scared that when you try to scream no air can escape your mouth. That is what I felt like. I tried frantically to push sound out of my mouth. she was walking away. I tried to put together some sort of word. She was opening the door. I tried to force my legs to move. She was gone. I stood there, in front of Mr.Pricers desk. Standing. Staring. Mr. Pricer looked up from his papers he was grading and simply said, "well, go after her!" I looked at him, my body finally functioning again, and smiled. I ran twoards the door and yanked it open. I could see her red hair bobbing down the hallway full of children. like a beacon. I glanced back over my shoulder to see the prompt of the week written in big green letters. NEW BEGINNINGS. I smiled and ran down the hall.